


In This Life

by Miku



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Androids (Detroit: Become Human), Bottom Connor, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Brother/Brother Incest, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Light Angst, M/M, Parent Death, Sibling Incest, Top Upgraded Connor | RK900, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miku/pseuds/Miku
Summary: Dirty.Dirty, and wrong, and sick. That’s what Nines would describe himself as, were he ever to pick up the courage to share his secret.(A story that follows Nines throughout his young adulthood as he remains attracted to his twin-brother in ways he shouldn't be, ever since they spent multiple nights experimenting on one another as kids.)
Relationships: Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900
Comments: 28
Kudos: 216





	In This Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LatexKaktus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LatexKaktus/gifts).



> A birthday gift for the lovely [LatexKaktus](https://twitter.com/LatexKaktus). Happy birthday!

**!!! WARNING !!!**  
Mentioning of past **underage incestuous relations**. Vaguely described, but present nonetheless.  
 **Incest.** If you haven't seen the 83 tags related to incest yet. This story is very much about Nines' inappropriate feelings towards his TWIN BROTHER Connor!  
 **Death of a parent**. Not heavily focused on, but it is mentioned.

If you are sensitive to this, please, for your sake and mine; SKIP this fic altogether.

Needless to say, I do not mean any harm or disrespect to anyone sensitive to these topics!

* * *

_Dirty._

Dirty, and wrong, and sick. That’s what Nines would describe himself as, were he ever to pick up the courage to share his secret. Which in itself is an absurd thought, and hence he’s left to chew over the definitions every night; swallowing them down, weighing heavy in his stomach, pressing mercilessly against his heart, teasing at his lungs to leave him breathless. 

Despite being unsure when exactly it had started, Nines remembers the day it ended. 

Connor’s first girlfriend; Katy. She’d been barely a day younger than his brother; their birthdays only separated by thirty-three hours, unlike the three minutes Connor has on Nines. She’d been pleasant, as pleasant as a twelve-year-old can be, but Nines had despised her the moment she went from class-room friend to his brother’s girlfriend. 

They didn’t last long; Connor and Katie. Partially because Nines had made sure to be venomous towards her, breaking her toys when she’d visit right in front of her face (but never when Connor was in their vicinity). Nines scared his brother’s first girlfriend away. And his second. And his third. 

And now here he’s sitting... Just turned nineteen. Glaring at Priscilla who hasn’t removed her hand from his twin-brother's thigh for the entire four hours she’s been here. The name aggravates him, the tones of it far too old-fashioned, far too stuck-up, matching her personality which matches Connor’s painfully well.   
They’re more similar to one another than even Nines is to Connor, and his teeth clench at the assumption of having someone connect to his brother more than he can. 

Nines is very aware that his anger is misguided at best, downright perversely wrong at worst. Girls -in particular girlfriends of Connor- had been the nail in the coffin to the relationship he’d had with his twin as a child and preteen.   
They used to be so close... Sharing laughter, sharing joy, sharing toys and sharing beds. Sharing hands... under blankets, first clasped together, but then one summer night fingers began to travel across skin. From soft patches of flesh, to hotter and harder areas until weekly sessions of bringing each other to messy, prepubescent climaxes became a habit. Always hushed, voices muffled into each other's shoulders, until sticky heat spread across their fingers and underwear. 

But it was never mentioned when the safety blanket of midnight’s darkness was ripped away by daytime sun. They never spoke of it, yet allowed it to escalate overtime. Hand jobs turning into rubbing against hips, against thighs. Kissing turning into lapping and nipping and eventually blowjobs; stifling hot as they always performed on one another hidden underneath blankets. As if the open air, no matter late hours and absolute darkness, would break the spell of hormonal arousal. 

Like it would have God strike them down for the gut-wrenchingly taboo act. 

They went far, yet never quite managed to actually have intercourse with one another, the reason as to why being their inexperience, their impatience, their tendency to come undone within minutes. 

Begrudgingly, Nines is aware that Katy had been the first to put a stop to his brother and his’ relationship.   
It’s not that they’re not close to each other anymore... It’s just that ever since Connor started having girlfriends, their incestuous dynamic had vanished. Connor had moved on, from corrupted adolescent to a young man leading a pretty normal live; doing good in school, being a teacher’s pet, pleasing their parents and of course, being painfully heterosexual and not being into his sibling.   
The only aspect Connor can’t quite seem to get right is dating girls. And that’s nothing to do with him, all to do with Nines. 

Priscilla meets his gaze from across the living room. Nines has his elbows planted on the kitchen island, glowers at her from beneath his furrowed brow as he feigns scrolling through his phone. She is uncomfortable, whispers something to Connor –against whom she’s nestled on the couch- and on cue Nines looks back down at the little device in his hands, acting aloof, as if he had not just wished misery upon a stranger. 

Connor, surprisingly enough, brings it up later that night after his girlfriend’s left. And Nines goes entirely rigid at the confrontation. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He murmurs the classic excuse before resuming his stretch to dispose of the mug he’d just cleaned, into the overhead cupboard. The clank of porcelain is loud in the quiet kitchen.   
Nights always have him on edge, especially when Connor is around. It has Nines wonder if Connor is thinking of their childhood as well. If he still lusts after his brother... Unlikely.   
Had it even been lust? How much carnal desire is there in children ages nine to twelve? Had it not been three years of experimenting, of figuring out their bodies, acting upon brewing hormones? 

Not to Nines.   
But to Connor, probably so. 

“Priscilla said you gave her a death-glare.” Connor repeats, his voice clipped, which warns Nines that he isn’t going to drop this. 

Unrolling his shoulders, he turns around to face his brother, stares at him down his nose; an enjoyable feat to having a couple of inches on him. 

“Well, that’s just my face, Connor. She isn’t used to it yet.” He hates talking about her, hates having to mention her in conversations with his sibling. Nines wishes they’d be talking about something else; a movie, a videogame, school or family... Fuck, even chores. He doesn’t want this girl on his tongue, doesn’t want to exhale her into the atmosphere between them; creating an even thicker wall in between. 

“No one ever quite gets the opportunity to get used to your face.” Connor lightly replies, cocking his head and leaning back against the kitchen island. The pose is seductive, and for one hysterical moment, Nines thinks he’s seducing him... But that’s just Connor; charming and handsome, carrying himself on light feet and speaking in even lighter tones. Enchanting. It’s no wonder men and women fawn over him. 

Their looks might be similar, but Nines’ icy eyes and stoic features contrast dramatically with Connor’s chocolate brown gaze and dimpled cheeks.   
Their personalities as well. Connor’s kind, friendly, smiles a hundred times a day (flashing dimples and perfect teeth, as if they don’t have anyone in vicinity come close to slipping into cardiac arrest at the sight of them) and puts effort into every relationship he has, no matter if it’s based on a daily nod-and-wave to the school building’s receptionist.   
Everyone knows Connor, and Connor knows everyone. And the love is mutual. 

Nines... An entirely different can of worms. One he doesn’t want to pry open when trying to come up with an excuse for why he’s been chasing away his brother’s girlfriends throughout the past seven years. 

Apparently, Connor’s noticed. Well, fuck. 

He ends up clenching his teeth. Stares at Connor for as long as his brother looks him in the eye. 

Connor exhales loudly, exasperated, shoulders sagging before he glances away and turns back around. Nines grows hot under the collar when watching his sibling’s smaller body propped against the kitchen island. It’d be so easy to take one long stride forward, press between his shoulder blades to push him down, pull off his pants and lick into him until he confesses to Nines that ‘ _Yes, yes, I also think about those times, every night in bed. Yes, I’m also tortured by the memories, by the guilt and the nausea for wanting to reenact every scene we did as children._ ’. 

But nothing happens. Unlike what he expected before, Connor does in fact let it go; dismissing his presence by resolutely ignoring him. 

And Nines leaves to his bedroom with his tail between his legs. 

* * *

Priscilla doesn’t leave after the normally six-to-twelve months it takes Nines to chase away Connor’s girlfriends. One year turns into two, and before he knows it, Connor announces their engagement at a family dinner party. 

Nines’ heart sinks. 

Connor is absolutely the type to get engaged at twenty-one, yet Nines had not expected it to be with a short, blonde, olive-skinned girl. Perhaps it’s because he wishes Connor would have a similar taste in women like his brother... Tall, pale brunettes (the more they looked like Connor, the better). And perhaps it’s wishful thinking on Nines’ part to have expected his sibling to marry someone who at least resembles Nines in looks, if not in personality. 

Her personality, as well, does not match Nines’ whatsoever, and it leaves him furious for days after the announcement.   
His anger and entitlement do not register into the forefront of his mind until Connor –typical to himself- points it out. After all, his older brother dislikes beating around the bush, ten times more than he does confrontation. A lesser of two evils, one switched around when it comes to Nines’ preferences; as he will often times deny until he drops dead, rather than catch the bull by the horns. 

“Why do you hate her so much, Niles?” The usage of his real name never goes by unnoticed as it only occurs when Connor is legitimately upset with him. Nines hates that name, reminds him of days before his nickname was given to him by no other than Connor. It happened so long ago neither of them remember the sentiment behind it, but it stuck around, kept its soothing nostalgia for the younger sibling. 

Leaning back in the couch, Nines lets his legs fall open, revels in how it has one of Connor’s own press into his thigh as he’s pulled his limbs up onto the cushioned seats. Twenty-one, brushed-off, put-together, painfully-adult-behaving Connor... Still sitting in Indian position any chance he gets. 

“I don’t hate her, Con.” Nines returns, putting emphasis on Connor’s own nickname in the hopes that it’ll soothe the displeasure he’s obviously experiencing at his brother’s judgement of his fiancée. 

“Besides, when have I ever been nice to any of your girlfriends?” The younger sibling adds, glancing at his brother who meets his eyes before looking back at the television in front of them. A gameshow is playing, neither of them have been following along, the volume too low to hear what’s going on. 

“I’ve always been nice to yours... And somehow they stuck around for even shorter periods of time than mine did.” Connor replies, acting bemused, though Nines knows it’s a jab at his inability to keep a girl around for longer than a couple of weeks. He’s doubtful his older brother knows the reason behind this, however. 

“Can’t all be as charming as you.” Nines jokes lightly, leans into him to nudge their shoulders together and he can tell Connor wants to drop it. He’s very talented at making his brother laugh, at having him relax or forget his own words in the middle of a discussion. 

“Stop it. She’s not just my girlfriend now. She’s my fiancée. We’re getting married next year and I would really appreciate it if you could be supportive of me like I am of you.” 

The sentence has so many different aspects it leaves Nines as pleased as it does annoyed. It’s good to know Connor wants them to be close, it’s agitating to hear her mentioned in every conversation they have lately. It’s all about the wedding, all about them moving away together, all about when they will start on having children.   
And to Nines all this just reads in the lines of when he will be abandoned by his twin. 

So he clings on the only subject he cares about. 

“I do support you.” Nines assures, though adds a mental ‘ _just not with her, or anyone else for that matter_ ’ to the sentiment. 

Connor seems to hear the unspoken words because his eyebrows cock in sarcastic disbelief before he huffs a sigh. 

“I just wish you could be happy,” He pauses, no... He ends the sentence there, before adding a hasty. “-for me.” And Nines isn’t sure whether Connor meant he wants his brother to be happy, wants him to be happy for him, or alternatively; wants Nines to be happy, for Connor’s sake.   
He sits, puzzled, can’t figure out the intonations enough to decipher Connor’s tendency to keep his cards close to his chest. 

Nines’ stomach is in knots for a moment. 

“I am a very, bitter boy.” Nines blandly states, tries to pull it off as a joke but can tell Connor’s noticed the tightness in his voice for his shoulders pull up lightly.   
In moments like these, when they speak with vague words and even vaguer intonations, Nines always wonders if Connor remembers. And if he does; how often he thinks about it, how he feels about it. Does he indulge on the imagery of their taboo nights, or does it merely disgust him? 

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t be.” Connor replies after a moment, doesn’t look at his sibling but also makes no move to get up, no matter how dismissive it had sounded. 

“I’ll pass it on to whatever mental illness is stirring around up in my skull. No promises.” 

A swat to his chest has Nines cough in surprise. His body sings at the physical contact, pleased at the atmosphere relaxing. 

“You’re not sick in the head. You’re just a dumbass.” Connor returns. 

“Such filthy words.” Nines murmurs, always pleased when Connor curses around him because he knows he tends to be pristine. It’s not that he acts like he’s polite and has good manners. Connor in fact does have impeccable manners and is incredibly talented at conversing with any type of person he comes across.   
It’s just that he never curses around anyone, anyone except Nines, and though it’s meaningless... Nines clings to it wholeheartedly, hopes dearly that Connor will never have a foul mouth around anyone but him. So he at least possesses that part of him, next to the dirty memories; his dirty words. 

Dirty has always suited Nines, after all. He hasn’t felt ‘clean’ or normal in ages, doesn’t remember a time before his twin became his obsession. Can’t picture a future without Connor either. The thought of him marrying... Going to live with this blonde, screech-voiced woman, leaving Nines behind in the apartment they’d shared for years now... 

“I will miss you.” Nines admits after they’ve lazily stared at the television for a couple of minutes. 

“I’m not leaving yet.” Connor replies, doesn’t seem to put much weight into Nines’ confession. Of course, he believes his younger brother is just stating a fact, a mere ‘will miss hanging around with my brother once he marries and moves out’.   
Has no clue it’s closer to ‘will miss having you around, hearing your voice, smelling your cologne, sleeping in the room right next to yours, hoping every day you’ll walk inside and crawl in bed with me’. 

“Besides... Living alone might help you. Maybe you’ll find a nice girl to move in with you. It’s annoying to invite girls over when living with your brother.” Connor says, and Nines stirs as he hadn’t expected him to add on to his reply. 

It sounds forced, this continuous talk about dating, about Nines having to find a girl at twenty-one. He wonders if Connor pities him, if he’s worried his sibling just won’t manage on his own unless he has a girl to hang out with. But that is not a trait he’s ever seen in his older brother. Connor is rather black-and-white when it comes to opinions and no matter his friendly nature, he does believe people are often times responsible for their own misery.   
It’d be more predictable for him to have already made up his mind about Nines, and having decided for himself that dating would be a good aspect in his life once they’re separated. Not out of pity, just mere fact. 

A fact Nines doesn’t agree with. 

“Maybe I prefer boys.” Nines dryly suggests, his voice a little too loud to not come across agitated. Which he is. 

Connor stirs, turns in his seat, his knee dragging cruelly against Nines’ thigh. 

“You’re... gay?” He whispers it, as if they still live with their parents, as if they’re discussing what pornography to watch later that night. The memory jolts him. 

“That’s not what I said. I just prefer hanging around with guys, for a roommate, I mean.” 

It’s clear his brother isn’t buying it, so Nines continues. 

“I don’t want to date. I’m not cut out for it.” 

Connor considers him, eyes darting across Nines’ features, likely trying to see if he’s joking around or not. Yet, stoic as ever, the younger sibling’s face tells nothing. 

“Well, I’m sure guys would like you just as much as girls do.” Connor grins around his words and Nines knows –he goddamn knows- that he means it to tease him, to embarrass him. But all that registers is the underlying compliment, the possibility of Connor imagining his brother with another man, which might in turn bring him back to their childhood endeavors. 

“I’m picky.” Nines says, voice soft but tight before his eyes drag away from his beaming brother. It’s not a lie either, Nines is very picky. His taste consisting, apparently, of all that he shouldn’t be wanting. He’s never had any interest in anyone but his brother. It takes him hours at times to find a porn video to his taste, for he’s always in search of a young man resembling his sibling. The ones he found over the years, are neatly categorized and secured deeply hidden in folders on his hard drive. None of them revolve around incestuous fraternization, because it is not something Nines is looking for. He doesn’t like that he wants to be intimate with his brother. He wishes every single day they would’ve just been friends, even if Connor would still be straight. At least then Nines wouldn’t feel like the sickest individual on the planet. 

But he’s shit out of luck. Has been from the day they ended up in bed together... And other than pine for Connor and hope the obsession will eb away, there’s nothing he can do.   
He can’t just visit a psychiatrist and tell them about this. Even if surely this is something fucked up in his brain, he could never get those words across his lips; ‘I fantasize about sleeping with my brother’. Even wording this confession in thought has his skin prickle, his nerves on edge.   
It’s wrong. It’s a defect. He’s broken. Assembled incorrectly by whatever cruel deity has created him. 

Nines has tried every tactic in the book –though no book about this exists to his knowledge-. But it’s hard to get over someone when they not only live with you, day in day out, but as well are so closely related to you. Their blood runs thick, their past mends together; intertwining to a point where they find themselves having memories of the other. It always leads to amusing arguments, trying to convince one another of a thing that happened a decade ago. 

So, perhaps... This separation and distance that will be forced on them next year. Perhaps that will help Nines get over his sibling? It’s the only thing he’s never tried before, hadn’t been able to even if he’d wanted to (which he never did).   
Out of sight out of mind. Or perhaps it’ll be a classic case of absence making the heart grow fonder. 

* * *

The wedding might still be a few months from now, but Nines’ skin prickles when Connor mentions that Priscilla and himself have found a beautiful house they’re planning to purchase. Not so much the fact that he will be moving out, not even so much the fact he will be married... But far more so that Connor will be nine hours away by plane. By plane... that’s just fucking absurd. He couldn’t have moved farther away without leaving the country.   
Nines doesn’t get why he moves that far away from their family, from his twin... It hurts him somewhere deep inside, a scab picked right back open. Nines bleeds for days. 

The only distraction he gets from moping around is when his older brother calls him over one afternoon. Calls him into his bedroom and, like is always the case when stepping inside there –seeing Connor on his bed-, he has to fold his hands into fists to stop himself from doing something stupid. Something _wrong_. 

“I’m going through some pictures, and was wondering which ones I can take with me.” 

The shoebox on his lap is filled to the rim with photographs, another empty box to his right on the bed. 

“Yeah, alright.” Nines murmurs, tries his best to ignore the heat crawling up the back of his neck at the prospect of going through childhood memories with his brother. 

Seating himself next to him, empty box on lap, Nines swallows a breath when Connor pulls up his legs; knee propped comfortably against his younger brother’s thigh. 

They go through all of them, every single one.   
And with each one Connor, or Nines, bring up a memory. A lost thought or a shadow of their past. 

Nines finds himself relaxing, the longer it goes on. Some photographs go in a separate box, intended to be brought along with his older sibling once he moves out. Some of them stay here, right on Nines’ lap. Home. To be gazed at, and reminisce over. 

One of the last pictures in the box, has just that effect. 

With a breath stuck deep within his lungs, Nines gazes down at the image held between his brother’s slender fingers. Connor brushes his thumb over a corner, forcing down the crease in it.   
The silence that follows, as they both stare at it, informs Nines that Connor must remember... He must know. He knows what happened the day that picture was taken. 

When it all started. 

Their first intimate moment. That very night. 

If he were a less cowardly, a more tasteless, young man, Nines would remark something along the lines of ‘I did really like you in a dress, huh?’.   
Yet, he doubts this would have the desired effect, being that it’d have Connor agree with him coyly, turn to face him and slot their lips together.   
Instead, the jab at how Connor having worn a princess dress on their ninth birthday had eventually led them to touch one another underneath their bedsheets (unabashed, inexperienced, clumsily and hastily), would certainly have his older brother crack one across his jaw and put an end to future family gatherings. 

Regardless of Nines mentioning it or not, his gaze travels from the picture up to Connor’s profile, observing how tightly his jaws are clenched, how distant his gaze has traveled.   
Connor’s recalling it... Is he replaying the entire conversation they’d had in bed that night? The whispers about how mommy and daddy had special hugs. The assumption of wearing dresses being what makes one female, what makes one like a mother, what grants permission for special hugs with the opposite gender.   
Their hormones had guided the rest. Their curiosity paved a road to future repetition, and once orgasms became involved, greed had them continue it right up to their twelfth birthday, right up to when Connor had gotten his first girlfriend; in a dress. 

“Con...” Nines murmurs, trying his best to ignore the heat pooling in his stomach. 

His older sibling stirs, yet doesn’t look over. The grip on the photograph tightens, crease returning swiftly. 

Connor’s lips part, but he doesn’t speak. He’s far away, somewhere in his head, and for a moment Nines considers his brother having genuinely forgotten about their childhood endeavors before this single photograph’s triggered the memory back.   
The skin on his neck has started turning a shade darker, the color traveling up to the corners of his jaws until finally, Connor’s entire face flushes. 

It’s not a sign of embarrassment, however. Nines knows his sibling very well, and he can tell these are the first tell-tale signs of him being incredibly emotional; on the border of shedding tears.   
Sure enough, glancing up, Nines can tell Connor’s eye has gone glossy. 

“You remem-” Nines’ whisper is cut off when Connor stands up so abruptly that he drops the box of pictures onto the floor. The clatter of carboard on wooden floorboards is absurdly loud and as the picture of his older sibling in a sparkly, blue princess-gown flutters to the floor, Nines has his answer. 

Connor knows, and by how he storms out of the room, it’s a memory he’d rather forget. 

Gazing after him, Nines’ heart leaps into his throat, tries to urge his voice to call out after him. But he knows it’s futile. It’s a horrific thing to have done once, let alone multiple times a month for three years. 

It’s an even more horrendous thing to want to repeat when adults. 

The weight in his body, the thick lump in his throat, the dizzying thoughts whining in the forefront of his mind, all serve to have Nines’ demeanor drop dramatically.   
His heart is pounding, loud and insistent, skipping beats that have his lungs quiver anxiously. 

With buzzing ears, Nines lowers his gaze from the door, dragging over the floor to the scattered pictures. 

Sliding off the bed and sinking on his knees, he proceeds in picking up the photographs, carefully placing them back in the box Connor is meant to take with him. He deliberately ignores the one that’s caused a severe shift in dynamic, until it’s the only one left to pick up. 

Nines stares at it for a while. A long while, at that. 

Minutes pass by, his thoughts lost in the past -one moment-, the future the other. 

Convinced as he is about having possibly broken a great part of their bond, Nines still goes to retrieve a pen, flipping the picture over on the desk and going to write something on it. He hesitates, ponders over words. Perhaps an apology is in order, with some reassurance. ‘I’m sorry this happened, but I’m okay, are you?’ 

A scowl furrows his eyebrows as the younger twin decides against it. 

What could he possibly pen down that’d make it all better? It’s obvious that Connor has a completely different opinion on the matter, let alone has any leftover positive emotions about what happened so many years ago.   
It was to be expected, after all. Connor’s a go-getter, moves forward in life effortlessly, is loved, is intelligent, gets everything thrown in his lap because somehow the sun shines out of his ass. 

Nines on the other hand... The other side of the coin, rusted and darkened by soil. By dirt... Always dirty. Stuck in the past. 

A grimace forms on his lips and his hand halts in its motions, a single word on the picture. A start of something... A desire. 

“Maybe...” Nines reads it out loud, the pen in his hand trembling. 

In the end, he loses his nerve and hides the picture underneath all the rest in Connor’s shoebox, before he can finish writing his sentiment. 

* * *

The days that follow are awkward, and that’s putting it lightly. 

They’ve had fights before. Hours spent in silence, in avoiding one another until they’d cooled down and patched it up with a one-armed hug and a pat on the back.   
But not like this. Hours had never stretched into days. And whereas before the avoidance had been fueled by hot tempers, it is now tainted with taboo, with perversions and shame and uncertainty. 

Connor’s been out of the house all day, probably hanging out with Priscilla. It’s been like this for the past seventy-two hours. Three days of figurative nail-biting and walking on eggshells.   
A hundred-and-one different scenarios have crossed Nines’ mind; all of them horrific, none of them hopeful. 

It’s eight in the evening when Nines picks up his keys, shoves his feet into his shoes and leaves the house. And it’s three in the morning when he returns home, drunk off his mind, stumbling, crashing into pieces of furniture he’s never touched before. Then again, Nines is not someone who indulges on alcohol all that often, let alone parties. He can’t recall the last time he had drank this much. 

Making it into the living room, after almost having dragged the shoe-cabinet in the hallway with him, Nines halts abruptly. 

“Where have you been?” Connor’s voice is stern. His arms crossed as he stands in the middle of the room. 

Leaning against the door-post, Nines lets his eyes travel down the length of his brother’s body, appreciating the slim lines; complemented by a snug-fitting jogger pant and V-neck T-shirt. 

“Out.” He replies once his intoxicated brain has translated the simple question. 

“I called and texted you a dozen times. You didn’t answer once, Nines.” 

All Nines takes out of the accusation, is how Connor’s back to using his nickname. A welcoming contrast to how he’d been grunting his actual first-name these past days whenever handing over one-word replies.   
It’s been a cold few days... The heat in his stomach is welcoming. 

Clumsily reaching into the pocket of his pants, Nines retrieves his phone, grimaces when it lights up and proves that his older brother isn’t lying, nor exaggerating. 

“I didn’t check.” 

“You normally always reply to me, within minutes, an hour at the most.” Connor returns, his arms unfolding. 

Nines exhales slowly, tries to calm down his heart which skips several beats at the sight of his sibling walking over to him. 

“I was distracted.” Nines explains vaguely. In all honesty, he’s pretty sure he’d been knocked out at the bar and took a nap on his barstool –face on the counter- for a couple of hours before the bartender woke him up to tell him they’re closing down for the night. 

Connor comes to a stop in front of him, tilts his head backwards in order to meet his gaze. It takes Nines a few moments before realizing that his shorter sibling is standing far too close to him. His body heats up at the proximity, though he’s uncertain whether it’s because of the alcohol, excitement or actual lack of distance. 

“It’s not like you to go out to drink. It’s not like you to drink, in the first place.” The older sibling says, frowns lightly. He’s right, of course. Connor’s almost always right, knows Nines better than he himself ever could. 

“I had some things on my mind.” He boldly states and knows by how Connor’s eyes dart away, that he understands what Nines is addressing. 

It’s the alcohol that makes him reach out, of course it is. After what happened three days ago, after Connor walked out on him... Any sober braincell left in his skull would advise against placing his hand on his shorter brother’s waist.   
Surprisingly enough, however, Connor doesn’t pull away. Nor does he lean into the touch. 

Nines is left in limbo. The world sways along with his heart-beat, left to right, as if sailing an ocean threatening to descend into a storm. Were it not for the shoulder he’s heavily resting against the door-frame, Nines knows he would’ve lost his balance by now. Perhaps, this is what assures Connor he is no threat in this moment... Just a slight shove and Nines would fall on his ass. 

“Can we start over?” The younger brother asks, his words slurring, but Connor still looks back up to meet his eyes. 

A long moment of silence passes by. Eyes locked, facial expressions betraying very little. But Nines knows, even this stupid-drunk, he knows there’s wordless communication being handled between them.   
They’re thinking of the same thing... They’re thinking of what they did as kids, they’re thinking of being reminded of it three days ago, they’re thinking of where to go from here. 

And Nines knows... Of course, he knows, this is not a moment to lean down, kiss Connor on his lips, pry them open and tongue inside of him like they’d done in the past..., but so fucking clumsily and so unappreciated for Nines hadn’t had a clue how deeply his emotions would continue to run. He is aware of this... And so, he doesn’t. 

He stands there, gazing –perhaps longingly- at his brother’s mouth; awaiting a reply. Or maybe even a smile. It will never be returned. They’re twins, for crying out loud... It can never be repeated without the excuse of prepubescent experimentation. 

Despite this knowledge, Nines still catches himself stirring, swallowing a gasp, when Connor wraps fingers around the back of his neck. The older sibling pulls him down, until Nines can rest his forehead in the crook of Connor’s shoulder. 

“Yeah...-” Connor whispers, his thumb stroking behind Nines’ right ear. There’s a hushing tone to his voice, which in the end is what has the younger brother realize that he’s shedding tears; seeping into the material of Connor’s shirt. 

“-we can. We can.” 

* * *

Nines’ liver has barely recovered before the bachelor party arrives. 

Though making sure to keep alcohol consumption to a minimum, he’s still buzzed pleasantly. Still intoxicated enough to snort out an uncharacteristic laugh at Connor faceplanting onto the couch after tripping over the carpet. 

Seeing Connor drunk, is a highly rare occurrence. 

Connor doesn’t get drunk. He’s a class A control freak with a stick up his ass. So, seeing him off his face for the first time since their early teens when they’d experimented with alcohol throughout their rebellious phases (a phase which all but lasted three weeks for Connor and a couple of years for Nines), is highly amusing to say the least.   
And not something he is willing to miss, since Connor will be marrying next week, moving out the next day before he and his wife leave on their honeymoon. 

Nines’ mood deflates at the term ‘wife’. 

Seated between mutual friends, Nines leans back in the couch, observes Connor peeling himself off the other couch with the help of a few friends before he sits down properly. Their eyes meet, and Connor throws him a lazy grin.   
Nines’ throat goes dry at the sight of him; disheveled, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, eyes half-lid, his hair a curly mess. He gulps down his beer before the similarities between drunkenness and an after-sex glow can start haunting him.   
Too late. 

His earlier deflated mood is forgotten entirely, suppressed by an anxious scratch in the back of his mind at finding Connor glancing over at him repeatedly throughout the following hours of the night. 

Nines attention is often pulled away by a conversation, a question, a pat on the shoulder from a friend, or another bottle of beer being shoved under his nose by a cousin. Regardless, when looking over, Connor meets his gaze dead-on, sometimes smiling, sometimes unreadable. But always unwavering, as if he’s challenging him, or trying his best to telepathically communicate with him. 

Though trying to ignore the thoughts, trying to tell himself that he’s making it all up in his own perverted mind, Nines still stirs when Connor shoves himself between him and a friend.   
Their bodies squished together uncomfortably until Nines is forced to raise his left arm, throwing it over the back of the couch. It’s a stupid move, however, since it allows Connor to slot against his flank more snugly. 

“You enjoying yourself?” The younger sibling asks him, tries to will down the heat in his face when Connor lets his head rest heavily against his shoulder. 

“I drank far too much.” Connor admits and Nines just scoffs dryly, sips from his beer right after to give himself something to focus on other than the line of heat against his entire left side. 

No one’s looking at them, everyone chatting, the buzz of conversation and music creating a bubble of desired intimacy when Connor speaks in soft tones; only for Nines to hear. 

“Help me to bed, Nines.” 

Neither of them move for a second. Nines isn’t sure he heard him right, is convinced his ears have gone absolutely deaf and his fantasy has taken over. 

“Come on.” Connor murmurs, tries to get up, but falls back down heavily. He heaves a sigh, but a smile curls at his lips. He’s piss-drunk. 

It takes a solid fifteen minutes before Nines gets Connor out of the living room (mainly because his older sibling is determined to drunkenly confess his adoration towards every single friend who came to the party before hugging them and wishing them a good night) and by the time he’s dragged him through the hallway and into his bedroom, Nines is legitimately out of breath. 

“You’re heavier than you look.” Nines grumbles. There’s no bite to his words and he doubts Connor can even process the English language any longer. 

Everything went fine. Getting him out of the living room, dragging him through the hallway, fitting both their bodies through the bedroom’s doorway without having someone’s skull crack against the doorpost. Nines had even managed to steady Connor whenever he’d stumbled or tripped over his own feet.   
What doesn’t go according to plan, however, is dumping his older brother onto his bed. 

For reasons likely related to the gallons of alcohol he’s consumed, Connor’s grip on Nines’ shoulders tightens drastically when he goes down. The result is mildly mortifying. 

Nines gasps as he falls down together with his sibling onto the bed, his own taller body landing half on top of Connor’s. Naturally, his first instinct is to push up his weight, remove himself from his brother’s heated body.   
Yet, in spite of his good intentions, Connor clings onto him more tightly, before wrapping an arm around his shoulders and forcing him to stay put. 

The world comes to a stop. Every fiber, every single atom, inside of Nines is focused solely on his brother underneath him. On his heady scent, crawling up his nose which lies buried in the crook of his neck. On the pressure on the back of his skull, where Connor forces him to stay near. On the heavy breathing between them, drowning the noise of the nearby ongoing party.   
Nines isn’t sure who’s breathing exactly has become this labored. He’s too overwhelmed to figure it out. The heat of his older brother, burns through layers of clothing into his skin, leaving an imprint; a cruel reminder for future indecent sessions of jerking himself off in bed while thinking back to this very moment. 

The fingers in his hair move, brushing across his scalp slow and soft. The pattern and pace of the movement far less worrisome than the left-hand which slides from Nines’ shoulder to his back and then south, until resting above the waistband of his pants. 

It’s obvious now that the heavy exhales are coming from Connor. Nines knows this because he’s holding his own breath, his lungs aching as he tries his best not to move an inch, to not accidentally inhale and get another taste of how good his brother smells. 

When fingers prod beneath the waistband of his pants, Nines flinches, grows absurdly tense in his sibling’s arms.   
This can’t be real, right? Connor must be passed out by now, dreaming- but, the tight hold he has on Nines says otherwise. 

“Connor...” Nines whispers and it’s the wrong thing to do because his lips brush over the skin of Connor’s throat and the body underneath him arches up. 

And that’s when he feels it. 

With his thigh stuck between Connor’s, and the shorter sibling pressing his body up into him, the stiff hardness betrays everything.   
This isn’t at all how Nines had expected this night to go, or any future occurrence in which they might be in physical proximity with one another. For starters, he would not have thought them to ever be this physically close to begin with –not horizontally, at least-, not to mention, Nines would have never expected Connor being the one with an erection straining the front of his pants. 

It’s miraculous he can get it up after how much he drank. But more so is that impressive trait reminding Nines of the current setting. Connor is drunk out of his mind... He has no clue what he is doing... Is perhaps even thinking it’s Priscilla on top of him.   
The single image of Connor fucking his fiancée flashes across Nines’ retina and it disgusts him as much as it turns him on. 

“Connor.” Nines tries again but his voice comes out broken and he hisses when Connor shifts his leg, presses it up between the taller man’s thighs. And of course... Of fucking course, he’s gone hard himself. 

Connor shushes him softly, hiccups, before turning his head and brushing his lips across Nines’ temple. 

Every nerve-ending in Nines’ body is on edge. His stomach and chest are hot, his length is pounding together with his heart-beat and he’s aware that this could be it... He could turn his head, have his lips travel up his brother’s throat, brush over his chin before meeting his lips. And he could slip his tongue inside, could slide his hand up underneath Connor’s shirt, explore the flat and hot length of his stomach until having his fingers find one of his nipples... He could pinch one, turn him on more, before grinding down on him.   
And it could just be that, just kissing, just brushing hands and hips rocking together until they both come in their pants.   
It wouldn’t be that bad, they would only kiss, only move their bodies, and that’s it... No hand or mouth on anyone’s cock. No fucking. No nothing. Just a quick race towards relief and never speak of it again. 

But something about the drunk little murmurs, something about the tiny pecks Connor places on his cheekbone. The way the hand on the back of Nines’ skull rests heavily and strokes clumsily –fingers catching knots as he fails to lift his hand and rather slides it up and down like a child petting a dog-. And something about those fingers underneath his waistband, never quite moving as if he’d forgotten about at least two of his limbs...   
Something about all of this doesn’t sit right. 

“Hey, you need to sleep, big guy.” Nines whispers and finally manages to shift his weight, put some distance between their faces. He immediately misses Connor’s scent, misses the heat and softness of the skin that’d been pressed against his lips. 

Connor’s gaze is glassy, as if he's about to cry, but Nines recognizes it as a drunken man’s look.   
His older brother doesn’t even catch on to the nickname. Nines has been calling him ‘big guy’ throughout their lives, always mildly mocking him for being older but so much lighter, and shorter, than his sibling. Their faces are similar, their bodies are far from it, and Nines notices it here as well; how he drowns Connor underneath his size... How he could pin him to the bed, devour him whole, and Connor couldn’t do shit about it. 

But he wouldn’t. Ever. 

Because this is Connor, his family, his best friend, and unfortunately the love of his life. 

He’d rather cut off his own dick than defile Connor without his consent. 

Connor clings to him when he pulls away further, and Nines finds himself in a childish battle of trying to keep up with plucking Connor’s hands off him fast enough to not have him hold on to him before he can get up from the bed. 

“Kiss me.” 

Nines freezes, a wrist in one hand, the other paused in its attempt to loosen the fingers wrapped into the collar of his shirt. 

Though not a single cell in his brain is considering obeying the command, Nines still frowns down at this drunk sibling as he tries to understand where this is coming from. He knows Connor doesn’t want him, not like that. And rightly so... It’s wrong, sick, _dirty_ .   
So, the only things left are that he’s either so horny he would attempt to have sexual relations with anyone in vicinity, or he’s seeing someone other than Nines. 

“Hey, it’s me; Nines.” Nines awkwardly says, resumes peeling off Connor’s fingers but finding that his brother’s grip has tightened a frightening amount. 

“I know. I love you, Nines.” Connor slurs, and then sighs shakily and Nines hopes dearly he isn’t about to cry and/or puke. He hasn’t seen him this drunk since their sixteenth birthday... But even then, as emotional of an idiot as he becomes when drinking, Connor’s never attempted to kiss him before. 

“I love you too, buddy. Let’s get you to sleep.” Nines assures Connor, pats the hand still fisted into his shirt and finally watches him relax. 

Connor wipes at his eyes after letting go of Nines, brushing away the moisture building up. Typical Connor... Always ends up crying over something when this drunk. 

Nines tucks him in, hums and nods whenever Connor asks him questions going from ‘do you love me?’ to ‘did you have fun today?’ and then back; stuck in a loop of drunken insecurity in which he tries to make sure Nines is okay and tries to define how much his younger brother loves him. 

If only he fucking knew. 

Connor passes out the moment Nines puts a hand onto his forehead. Watching him asleep finally allows Nines to take a deep breath, willing down the whirlwind of emotions going through his mind.   
They say truth is spoken by the mouths of children and drunken men, but certainly this had been the exception. 

The mere idea of something deep inside of Connor, somewhere buried in his subconscious, is wanting to indulge on the taboo desires, has Nines shaken for the rest of the night.   
He goes to bed at five in the morning. Though not after shamefully masturbating and coming embarrassingly fast with his brother’s scent stuck in his nose. 

* * *

It’s clear that Connor remembers absolutely nothing from last night. After emptying his stomach for a good portion of the early afternoon, Connor emerges from the bathroom looking like he’d died fifteen ways and dragged himself back out of the grave. 

Nines cracks a small smile at him, and Connor just waves a hand, his face miserable and his body slouched. 

“Never let me drink again.” Connor groans before dragging himself to the kitchen. 

Nines doesn’t mention that that is not something he can do for him, since he will be moving away. Instead he answers with a ‘Got it.’ thrown over his shoulder. 

The day passes by slowly, most of it spent in silence as Connor nurses orange juice and a couple of painkillers to recover from his hangover. 

He asks about the previous night, and Nines tells him most of what happened, though ends it with ‘and then I dumped you in bed and went back’.   
Connor nods, stares at the television and for a split-second Nines fears he is recalling what actually occurred last night in his bedroom. 

But then his older brother only cocks his eyebrows and scoffs. 

“So that’s what a blackout’s like.” And with that he soothes Nines’ fears promptly. 

Connor doesn’t recall, and fair enough, it had been meaningless. Just drunk and horny... 

Happens to the best. 

* * *

As much as Nines believes he can handle this, he still ends up not attending his brother’s wedding. 

It wasn’t his intention to miss Connor’s most important day. In fact, he gets dressed in his best man suit, gets in the car to leave, and then makes a u-turn to return back home. 

He can’t do it... As selfless as he tries to be for Connor, as much as he’s been putting up a friendly face for Priscilla... He can’t watch them get married and know for sure he won’t make a scene.   
Nines never makes a scene, is always on the timid side, stays to himself, avoids confrontation and only lashes out when backed in a corner. He doesn’t spill his guts, or his heart. In fact, he’s rather gifted with bottling shit up for years. But he’s not certain he’d manage that, that day. 

Connor, on the other hand, is an extrovert at heart, a no-bullshitter, gets shit done and gets it done correctly and swiftly. He will step on toes if necessary.   
Steps on Nines’ in a rather childish but painful fashion two days after the wedding. 

Nines yelps, shoves Connor away after he’d rammed the heel of his shoe onto his bare toes after they’ve been arguing for nearly twenty minutes now.   
Connor, as much as Nines is patient and can feign being unbothered, easily boils over when wanting to resolve an issue and getting no feedback in return. This aspect has always been an issue in their relationship with one another. They deal with problems differently, so when a problem is actually about the two of them, rather than external issues, shit hits the fan quite fast. 

“Can you goddamn answer me, for once?!” Connor shouts, curses on top of that. A side not many people have seen, but Nines knows it, and knows exactly how to piss him off more. 

It’s uncalled for, really, but his older brother is moving away tomorrow and Nines has nothing left to lose. He’s been pissed off for a while now, and the closer they get to the actual issue, the less Nines desires to solve it any longer.   
It is, after all, not fixable. He has to deal with it... And he doesn’t want to do it in an adult manner. Nor responsibly. 

He wants to deflect the hurt. Wants to, for once, not suffer alone in this. 

“I told you, I came down with the flu.” Nines mutters, his voice a bit shakier since his brother physically assaulted him. At least three of his toes are fractured, he’s certain. 

“You got a one-day flu on my wedding day?” 

It’s a rhetorical question. They both know it’s a lie, one so unbelievable that it is obvious to Connor that Nines doesn’t even care enough to come up with something better.   
Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t care enough to find a better excuse as to why he missed the wedding. And he hopes Priscilla hears it too, hopes it has them argue in bed at ten PM until it breaks down their relationship five years down the line. 

That’s what Nines wants, that’s how fucked up he is. Selfish enough to want to break up a marriage... Yet cowardly enough to not take what had been offered to him last week at the bachelor party.   
He should’ve just gone with it... Should’ve kissed Connor, fucked him wide open so he woke up with a sore ass and no recollection of what had happened to him. 

But, he’s not quite _that_ fucked up... He presumes. 

“I hope you know you ruined my wedding. The one important day in my life, you absolutely tainted it, Niles.” 

Swiftly ignoring the use of his real name, Nines raises his chin arrogantly. 

“You can always marry a second time, Connor.” He returns and he sees the hand coming, doesn’t stop it from slapping him across the face. 

It’s humiliating nonetheless. An open-handed smack like that... As if he’s a woman in the eighteenth century who’d spoken out of turn. The least Connor could do was punch him, have his nose bleed or knock loose a tooth. That’s what Nines deserves, after all. 

Connor glares at him, disbelief and hurt in his eyes, and it’s as if he’s waiting for Nines to attack him. He’s sure that’s what his older brother prefers... It’s easier to fight than to be this upset and still feel like you’re talking to a brick wall.   
But Nines is a petty creature at heart, he is bitter and hurt and deals with it entirely differently from his brother. He knows how to hurt Connor and though his revenge has no basis (because this isn’t Connor’s fault, because Connor did nothing wrong, Connor is just trying to live his life and have the support of his twin and best friend, Connor could never guess why Nines is acting like he is) he still digs the knife a little bit deeper. 

“Have a safe trip, brother.” Nines says dryly, taking a step back and slamming the front-door in Connor’s face. 

Throughout lonely nights and holidays spent alone, Nines remembers the look of absolute shock and hurt on Connor’s features in that last moment he’d seen him. 

It haunts him. 

Yet, not enough to reach out to Connor and fix what had been broken. Not until seven entire years pass by before their mother passes away; forcing them to meet again. 

* * *

Seeing Nines again, for the first time in seven years, is far more pleasant than he thought it would be. 

Dressed in black, from head-to-toe (though this time around for reasons other than his bland fashion sense), Nines doesn’t look a day older than he had the last time Connor had seen him. A day he rather forgets about, though has been incapable of. 

Excusing himself from the family members he’d been in conversation with, Connor descends the stairs leading up into the church and walks up to Nines who only sees him when he comes to a stop in front of him. 

Nines’ shoulders pull up lightly, his features and grey eyes betraying nothing, as usual. 

Connor smiles up at him, hopes he can see the tremble in his chin and the wetness to his eyes. And Nines, no matter how cruel he can be, no matter how coldly he can act, pulls him into an embrace. 

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Connor whispers into his taller brother’s shoulder, revels in how the arms around him tighten at his words. Nines agrees softly.   
The sun beaming onto them is cruel in her brightness and warmth, making the day of their mother’s funeral seem all that more unbelievable; emphasizing the sense of shock Connor’s been floating in since her passing. 

The ceremony takes far too long, as does the family gathering at Connor’s place afterwards.   
By the time nine o’clock crawls by, Connor is grateful for Nines’ help in dryly stating they need time alone to grieve, and not so subtly kicking everyone out.   
It’s an aspect to Nines he hasn’t seen before and he’s not sure whether he grew up more or if it’s because he’s feeling protective over him. 

Nines has not cried once, and thinking back to it –while staring at his taller brother’s back as he pours them both drinks-, he can count the times he’d seen Nines cry as an adult on one hand. 

The last time, is one that’s stuck to him the most, however... He shakes the memory, takes the tumbler of Whiskey Nines reaches out to him, before scooting over and giving his brother space to sit down on the couch next to him. 

“Haven’t seen your wife all day.” Nines comments after they’ve sipped their drinks in the silence of Connor’s dim living room. 

“We’re separating. She’s at her parents’.” 

Nines pauses mid lifting his glass to his mouth, before he resumes with a cock of his eyebrows. 

“Could’ve turned up to the funeral, at least.” His younger brother comments carefully, his voice heavier than he remembers it being. 

“She did, this morning. She...” Connor hesitates for a moment, glances at Nines who meets his gaze calmly. 

“She didn’t want to see you.” 

Rather than be insulted, Nines snorts a single laugh, downs his Whiskey. 

“Well, can’t blame her.” The taller sibling says with a shrug before placing his glass on the coffee table and leaning back in his seat, arms spread across the couch’s back. 

“Seven-year itch, was it?” Nines asks after a moment. 

Downing his drink in one go, Connor proceeds in discarding of the glass and pulling his legs onto the couch, fingers wrapping around his ankles and he gives the question some thought. 

“Not quite.” He admits, though isn’t sure how much he should be saying to his brother who’d played a far bigger role in his separation with Priscilla than Nines could ever guess. 

He readjusts his position, watches Nines from the corner of his eye when his knee comes to rest atop his taller sibling’s thigh.   
Nines eyes flutter closed for a second, the gulp is audible. 

“The last seven years haven’t been all that, to be honest.” Connor says, bites his tongue right after. 

His heart skips a beat when Nines lifts his head from the back of the couch, glances over at him, expecting him to continue. 

“I... I did something bad, Nines.” Connor admits hesitantly, knows he’s already said too much to stop now. 

“Got someone pregnant?” Nines asks, and though his eyebrows raise in that typical mocking manner, there’s a genuine lilt to his tone. 

“No!” Connor scowls, shakes his head. 

“You cheat on her?” 

“No... I would never... But, it’s- it’s worse than that, really.” Connor looks down as he says it, embarrassed and more so anxious that his brother will peel away the words to reveal the truth. He shifts in his seat, knee brushing up Nines’ thigh. 

“All that’s left is murder, here, Con. I’m not sure how much you want to involve me in this.” 

Connor slaps him against the chest, the movement natural. The habit of lightly reprimanding Nines for sarcastic remarks still present after seven years of absence. Like nothing had changed. Even though they parted on such horrifically bad terms. 

Nines brushes his chest lightly, easing the ache of where Connor had hit him. 

“I led her on. Never- well, I loved her. Still do. Just... not in that way. I shouldn’t have dragged her along with me.” Connor admits, his heart clenching at the knowledge. To his defense, he hadn’t a clue he’d dated her, married her, and moved away because he’d been running from his past. From Nines-and-his' past. Not until a while ago, not until going through that shoebox of pictures and being reminded of it all. 

“You know, you actually broke one of my toes back then.” His younger sibling says. He doesn’t have to mention the day, Connor remembers it clearly. Not to mention, it had been the one and only time he’d been pissed off enough to do something so absurdly impulsive and aggressive. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I deserved it.” Nines says, shrugs, and they look over at one another, daring each other to bring up the actual issue that’s been dancing between them for so long now. Connor knows what it is... But he isn’t sure Nines is aware of his older sibling knowing. Let alone being informed about how Connor feels about it. 

For his intelligence, wit and observant nature, Nines can be daft beyond comprehension. It’s rooted in a low confidence, certainly. Nines has the habit of questioning himself far more often than Connor ever does.   
And it is undeserving. He may be shit at dealing with his emotions, but at heart, Nines is a good man. 

“That night.” Connor says, his heart skipping a beat as he is bringing up a topic that should not be discussed. But it had been a night where his eyes had opened, no matter how piss-drunk he had been. 

“Of the bachelor party.” He clarifies when Nines just frowns at him. 

Nines’ face falls immediately, jaws clenching and lips thinning, grey eyes going dark at a fear that he’s certainly been carrying with him since their childhoods. And perhaps Connor is to blame for never having brought it up himself... For having ran from it by dating girls, by marrying and moving across the country... Because somehow he thought he could outrun his past, and his heart with it. 

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” Mildly horrified that he’s been able to ask the question, Connor still doesn’t expect Nines to fly up off the couch and retreat to the hallway.   
The rustling of fabric follows suit and Connor realizes that Nines is about to leave. 

“Nines! Wait!” 

Scrambling off the couch, Connor jogs into the hallway, finds Nines already with one foot outside and the turned-around memory of seven years ago hits him in the chest tenfold. Not again, they can’t part over this again. They can’t fuck this up again, because none of them are speaking of it. They need to stop running. They have to fix this. 

“The picture!” Connor says abruptly, hoping it will stop his brother from closing the door behind him and leaving back across the country to go home. 

It does, Nines freezes, waits with his back turned to his brother, one hand on the opened door’s handle. 

“The picture, Nines. You never finished what you were going to say.” 

The knuckles of Nines’ right hand go white, tightening his grip on the door-knob minutely before he gazes over his shoulder at Connor. 

“You found it?” 

“Yes, of course. I went through those pictures countless of times, Nines. I’ve missed you.” Connor confesses, hopes his facial expressions shows nothing but kindness, but an open heart and open arms, nothing but welcomingly urging Nines to come back inside in his house, in his life. 

“So much, Nines. I’ve missed you so much.” 

Nines considers him for an atrociously long moment and Connor exhales heavily when he turns around and steps back inside, closing the door softly behind him. 

“You want to know what I was going to write down?” 

Connor watches Nines lean against the door, hands awkwardly shoved into the pockets of his jacket. 

“Yes, of course.” The older twin assures as he walks up to him slowly, hating how the lack of light makes it hard for him to read Nines’ features. 

Nines doesn’t speak for a long while, long enough to have Connor stop in front of him. Long enough for Connor to push his coat back off his shoulders, tossing it across the shoe cabinet to his right. Nines glances at his disposed jacket, at Connor’s hands, at Connor’s mouth. 

The younger sibling inhales, opens his lips as if he’s about to speak, but ends up seizing Connor by the collar of his shirt; lifting him onto his toes and pressing their lips together. 

It shocks Connor. He’d known, from the moment they’d touched each other under blankets, from the moment he’d gotten his first girlfriend and Nines scared her away, from the moment they’d seen that single picture reminding them, and how it had caused Nines to drink himself stupid and return home to sob into his shoulder. From the moment at the bachelor party, when Nines had been pressed against him; hot and hard and shivering, but had not abused his power. 

Connor knows all of this as much as he knows why he himself had chased girls who looked nothing like his brother, had proposed to the first girl he could sleep with without going flaccid halfway through because his mind would wander back to a pair of grey eyes, had married her and moved across the country to put even more distance between Nines and himself...   
And yet still, it hadn’t worked. Miles away from him, even having no contact with him for an entire seven years... And still... Still his brother broke through his conscious daily, penetrated his heart painfully whenever he’d lie through his teeth to his wife. 

It’s just that he hadn’t expected Nines to be the one to take the first step. Not back then and not now.   
That’s what shocks Connor the most. Not how wrong this is, not how he can’t suppress a groan from crawling up his throat, being swallowed down by Niles lips and tongue. Not even how, when their bodies press together, he can already feel his brother’s length pressing urgently against his hip. 

Just, that he somehow grew the balls over the last seven years to take this step. 

And as much as the regret should lie in having these feelings for one another, Connor regrets that they’d lost so many years. So many years spent in ‘what if’ limbo. So many years of living lies, of running from the truth.   
A truth that is not supposed to be, but is entirely, gut-wrenchingly fact. 

Connor’s seen Nines kiss girls before, and it’s never been like this. Not even close. The shorter sibling grows overwhelmed within mere minutes, finding himself pressed against a wall, Nines crowding him, hands sliding across his flank, across his back. 

“Nines.” Connor gasps when Nines lips go from his mouth to his throat. They both groan when Connor cranes his neck, allowing him more skin to nip and lap at. 

“How long?” Nines whispers, fingers reaching up to the collar of Connor’s black button-up. 

“What?” The older twin dumbly asks, his own hands fumbling with Nines’ belt, undoing it clumsily. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Nines clarifies against his throat before swiping a wet stripe from jugular to jaw. Connor’s entire body shudders and he would’ve spilled in his pants had he been ten years younger. 

“Since the beginning.” Is his confession and Nines pulls back to glance down at him. They both stop their movements. 

“Since we were kids?” 

“Yes.” Connor nods. 

Nines smirks wryly, a grimace more than a genuine smile. 

“We’re both sick.” The taller man states and Connor recognizes the apprehension immediately. 

“I’m tired of caring. It’s been nearly two decades, Nines. We won’t get ‘fixed’.” 

They’ve both dealt with it in their own ways, and none of it had worked. Not even separation. Connor is aware there is no future for them in this setting... They can’t move on as a happily married couple. They won’t even be able to walk hand-in-hand, and an introduction to each other’s family would be a cruel joke. 

“We can’t do this, Con... Our family. Dad...” Nines whispers, eyebrows furrowed. “Mom, even.” He adds, waving a hand around as if to motion towards a heaven neither of them believe in. 

Connor stares at his brother, lips plump and red from kissing, hair disheveled where he must’ve brushed fingers through it only moments ago. His belt is undone, as are the top few buttons of Connor’s shirt, and he doesn’t want to put a stop to this... He can’t do this any longer. 

“I know you love me, Nines.” 

“Of course.” Nines agrees, stirring when Connor reaches up to bury his knuckles into the collar of his shirt. It reminds him of that night... He’d been so drunk, so willing, and still Nines hadn’t taken advantage of him. Something has to give, something should be able to get triggered to tug him over the edge to take what he wants. 

“What did you want to say?” Connor whispers, holding on to Nines’ shirt while at the same time starting to unbutton his own.   
“On the picture.” 

Nines observes him for a moment, eyes darting from the fingers deftly undoing one button at a time to Connor’s parted lips. 

“Maybe...” Nines says, his voice dry. He licks his lips, swallows, before continuing. 

“Maybe, in the next life.” He concludes. 

Connor understands immediately what he had meant with that line. The picture had reminded them both of their inappropriate relationship. A relationship which had always been based on mutual love, but considered vile, dirty and perverse by their bond in blood.   
And it is... Of course. It’s a defect, coincidentally present in the both of them. It’s unnatural, taboo and never spoken of. But it happens, and though Connor’s been running from it for nearly twenty years now... He can’t wait for a next life. 

There _won’t be_ a next life. 

This is all they have. A past to reminisce, a present to experience, and a future endearingly uncertain. Nothing but their past is set in stone, and Connor wants to keep chipping at it. No matter how indecent. 

Defect be damned... Connor can’t run anymore. He’s exhausted. He wants Nines. His brother, his best friend, his soul mate, and coincidentally; the love of his life. 

“You and I both know there won’t be a next life.” Connor simply states before letting Nines go and undoing the last of his buttons. He holds his brother’s gaze, watches it drop down once he pulls off the shirt. 

“Con...” His younger sibling’s voice wavers, as if pained by the image in front of him. 

Inhaling deeply, Connor collects his wits before undoing his pants and pushing them down over his hips and thighs until they pool at his ankles. His underwear follows.   
Stepping out of the garments, Connor doesn’t bother removing his socks, only glances up at Nines who appears to be on the border of laughing or crying. 

“I’m done pining after you.” Connor says simply, catches Nines glancing down between his legs, witnessing his half-mast erection. 

“And I hope you are too.” The older sibling adds before turning to his left and walking towards the staircase. 

Halfway up the stairs, Connor can hear the rustling of clothes and the clack of shoes pacing over floorboards. 

Nines follows him upstairs. 

* * *

Fucking Connor, ironically feels more like repenting than it does sinning. There’s no heightened arousal because of the knowledge that he’s pressing himself into his brother. All the breathlessness, all of the heat in his heart, the overwhelming desire to weep while thrusting into him, come from a place of love. 

He adores Connor, he knows Connor, and Connor knows him, and after nearly twenty years of wanting him, finally having him feels like coming home.   
As if he’s finally settled mentally. This ominous storm that had been brewing in his subconscious since for as long as he can remember, goes silent the very moment their bodies connect. 

Having Connor wrapped around his length, is mind-blowing. Nines inhales deeply, exhales with a shudder, has to squeeze his eyes shut in fear of coming prematurely at the sight of his sibling spread out underneath him; all long limbs and pale skin. 

“Nines, move.” Connor whines gently. 

Nines gazes down at him, strokes a hand down his stomach and toys with the curly hairs peeking from underneath where Connor's erection lies heavily on his belly.   
It’s unbelievable. His mind floats somewhere between his body and his conscience. The voice that had accused him of how sick he is for sleeping with his brother on the day their mother was buried, has quieted down by now.   
But the echo lingers, and Nines isn’t sure he will ever be able to fuck Connor without some sense of guilt gnawing at him. 

But, perhaps that is what he deserves, for wanting this, for indulging on it. A mild punishment for taking what he wants but is not supposed to have. 

Connor has always been better at dealing with issues. Or so Nines had believed. The knowledge that his brother’s been running as much from this as he had, is as comforting as it is worrisome.   
He had been so convinced Connor had not returned these emotions... And to find him again after seven years, divorcing his wife because he’s been in love with his brother for years... Has Nines wonder if one can absolutely know another entirely, ever. 

Sliding out of him, the drag hot and tight, Nines curses quietly. 

There’s no justification. No excuse. Nothing can explain why it would ever be okay for both of them to be rock hard, moaning and sweating as their bodies pick up a rhythm. 

Nines’ mind goes from quiet to fearful repeatedly, pushing him up into a high before trying to tug him back down. And leave it to Connor to see right through him. 

The moment his older brother flips them around, when Connor slides back down onto his cock and starts to ride him like his life depends on it, Nines knows he’s a goner. 

That’s all it takes. For Connor to take the lead, long enough to drive him absolutely wild and shut up the voices, drown the guilt with pleasure and desire and need and want.   
And he does it skillfully. Fucking himself onto Nines fast and rough one moment, torturously slow and shallow the next. He ignores Nines’ whispered desires, doesn’t pay mind to when he says ‘faster’ or ‘slower’. Connor does his own thing and makes sure to bring his brother to the edge but not allow him to topple over. 

In the past, Nines had always believed to know Connor better than Connor had him. He’d been convinced that extroverted types like his older brother were far more transparent than the silent types such as himself.   
But then, in the future, Nines figures out that that night, Connor had fucked himself on his cock in the perfect way to have him lose himself in him. He finds out only a few days after, that Connor had seen through the worry in Nines’ mind, through the guilt and the dirty taboo tainting their intimacy. And that had been why Connor had whined –had lied- about not being able to reach an orgasm unless Nines plowed his brains out. 

Just the words themselves; ‘Please, fuck me senseless.’, had been enough to have something click in Nines’ mind. 

And as such, back in the present, Nines lifts Connor by the waist, off his cock. 

Connor huffs as he is dropped onto the mattress, but immediately works along when Nines grabs his ankles and drags him to the foot-end of the bed where he is standing.   
Hastily, the older sibling shoves a pillow under himself, tilting his hips up and spreading his legs and Nines slides in so easily it has his knees buck. 

It’s nothing like a first time lay with the love of your life. It’s over fifteen years of pent-up frustration. It’s a reunion tainted by the weight of mourning. It’s a fuck serving to remove anything vile, anything worrying their minds, anything downing their moods. Just a steady, rough race towards a blissful unknown. A post-climax high. 

Connor moans loudly, whines high-pitched, sounds he’s never heard him made. Not when having jerked him off as kids and not when having heard him have sex with a girl in the bedroom next doors. 

Nines is in awe, not even the sweat pricking his eyes can distract him from the image in front of him. He fucks into his heat harder and faster, watches how Connor’s face flushes, how his brows furrow and his jaw drops in a soundless whine when having his bundle of nerves hit repeatedly. 

“There?” Nines pants, angles himself to ensure he’s thrusting in what he believes to be Connor’s prostrate. 

Going by the rapid nodding, by how not a word leaves his opened mouth, by how his hands reach across the mattress to clench fists full of bedsheet, by how his back arches up and his thighs begin to tremble, Nines is hitting the right spot. 

Connor comes untouched, and Nines had childishly believed it to be a myth –no matter how often he’d seen it happen in pornography-.   
The older twin shudders through it, entire body twitching as semen spurts repeatedly from his bopping erection. The white fluid splatters across his stomach and chest, covers his entire left nipple, and Nines bites the insides of his cheeks as he tries his best not to spill while fucking him through his orgasm. 

It doesn’t work. The spasming muscles around his cock milk him easily, and once his seed begins to fill up Connor, Nines groans loudly. He keeps the rhythm going, slower, but still sliding in and out of Connor’s loose hole, reveling in how the motion causes a squelching to fill the room. 

“Fuck.” Is his bland contribution before he pulls out and drops down onto the bed; faceplanting and uncaring. 

They lie there for ages, until their breaths slow down, and Connor begins to draw little pictures on Nines’ back with the tips of his fingers. It tickles, and has the younger sibling shudder, but he makes no motion to stop him from doing it. 

That’s it. They overstepped the last boundary. Even if they’d put a stop to it now, there’s no excuse of age to help Nines deal with it any longer. 

A sense of panic starts to pull at his heart, and it has Nines shift his weight. He plans to get up, shower away the absolute filth he’d indulged on, but when catching Connor’s eyes as he turns his head, he halts. 

Connor smiles at him, looking satiated, absolutely fucked out. But he as well appears exhausted in the sense of what had occurred today, last week, seven years ago. They’ve been through a lot, the both of them, but Connor’s always been one to deal with it better, more maturely.   
Yet, in this moment, gazing at his brother this up close, he can see the starting lines of wrinkles, the bags under his eyes, the paleness to his features and even the down-turn at the corners of his mouth. As if smiling, now, is a lot harder than it had been seven years ago. 

“I’ve missed you too.” Nines mutters softly, because he thinks that’s what Connor needs to hear. Or he hopes it is. 

Connor nods, smile turning softer, eyes going glassy. 

Nines isn’t sure if he is emotional over their mother, or over the fact they had sex. But he figures the most he can do is be there for him, unlike how he hadn’t been for so long; too stuck in his own hell to ever see Connor’s side of things, to ever consider his older sibling needed a shoulder to cry on as much as he did at times. 

“It’ll be okay. Eventually.” Nines says, hardly believes his own words but knowing that alongside Connor, anything’s a possibility. They will never be able to live their love freely, and fuck... Nines doesn’t even know if Connor is willing to continue this... But they’re so connected, at heart and in mind, that together anything seems far less gloomy. 

“Right?” He asks, shakes Connor a bit when he doesn’t reply. 

Wiping stray tears from his cheeks, Connor’s smile widens again, dimpling his cheeks as he nods. 

“Yeah.” He agrees, nods again, before reaching over to place a hand on Nines’ cheek. 

A kiss follows, disgustingly tender, one Nines never before allowed from anyone he’d dated. 

“We can get a little house on a mountain somewhere, one day. Live our old days together like that.” Connor says softly and it’s sappy in such a typical Connor way that it has Nines’ crack a grin against his lips. 

He agrees with the sentiment. Except for their father, they have no responsibilities. They can live like they always had, though with their secret shared only between each other. Like they’re kids again, in one way.   
And when the time is right, if it allows them to grow old, they could move somewhere no one knows them. No one pays mind to the two brothers living in a tiny cabin atop a mountain, minding their business and living off food from their garden. 

Nines nods, brushes his lips across Connor’s before speaking. 

“Yeah. We could... In this life.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> \-------------------
> 
> Come yell at me on Discord: jalribai#2874  
> Come see how inactive [my twitter](https://twitter.com/jalribai) is  
> Come look at my ugly mug on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jal00t/)


End file.
